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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28358664">This is the season to be jealous</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imjohnlocked87/pseuds/Imjohnlocked87'>Imjohnlocked87</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas Eve, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Insecure Sherlock Holmes, Jealous John, Jealous Sherlock, M/M, Original Character(s), Pining John, Pining Sherlock Holmes, Tango, Virgin Sherlock Holmes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:54:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,023</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28358664</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imjohnlocked87/pseuds/Imjohnlocked87</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>John invites the woman he has been dating the last weeks to the Christmas Eve dinner at Baker Street with Sherlock and their friends, but he finds he is not the only one who is  bringing a guest...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>140</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>2020 Advent Collection Johnlock Style, Festive Johnlock Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>This is the season to be jealous</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bell rang, and John got up from his chair. </p><p>"That's Samantha" he smiled, walking towards the door. </p><p>Soon, he returned to the dining room where Sherlock, Mrs Hudson, Mycroft, Molly, Tom, Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson enjoyed a punch before Christmas Eve dinner. </p><p>Sherlock rolled his eyes. If it wasn't enough that Mycroft was dating Lestrade, and the DI insisted on inviting the sergeant and the forensic with the stupid excuse that he couldn't leave them alone at Christmas, now he had to put up with John's date as well. </p><p>He felt sick. Amidst stupid giggles, whispers, kisses, and silly jokes, John and the woman decorated Baker Street's living room with Christmas motifs, hang on the tree those horrible lights that dazzled him and sprayed the windows to make awful figures impossible to clean after Christmas was over. </p><p>But the worst was when they disappeared upstairs, with the excuse of decorating John's bedroom, the moment the detective fled from the flat. He couldn't stand another night listening to her moans and cries praising John's sexual skills and his fabulous cock.  </p><p>Those screams awakened his sexual desire in a way that started to get out of control. Every time she screamed in sexual bliss, Sherlock imagined himself climbing the stairs, throwing her out of the room, sitting on John's cock and savagely being fucked by him. </p><p>But all these dreams faded when he listened to John's loud grunts and groans of pleasure. Those sounds tortured him even more, the loud testimony of how John enjoyed fuck women and that sex with men was totally out of his plans.</p><p>He lost count of the nights he spent outside, pacing and freezing in the park, trying to regain control of his mind and body, as many as John brought her to the flat.</p><p>At first, he didn't understand why John was doing it. He usually went to his dates' houses, leaving Sherlock ruminating on his jealousy, heartbreak and pain in the flat's solitude, pretending to concentrate on some experiment. </p><p>But that December John was hornier than usual and, for some reason, he brought Samantha every night to the flat. The detective got fed up with finding her in the kitchen in the morning, wearing any of John's jumper or shirts. </p><p>Two weeks before Christmas, he understood why. It was his fault. He let himself be carried away by emotion and hope.</p><p>After shotting the cabbie for him, Sherlock thought John reciprocated his feelings for him. So he, timidly, tried to show him that he loved him also. He wasn't sure about how to do it, so some touch here, some comment there, until, while they were solving the blind banker's case, Sherlock gathered the courage to ask him for a date.</p><p>In an embarrassed, weird and vague way, he proposed John to go out. A date. <em>It's where two people who like each other go out and have fun</em>, John had said. And Sherlock, thinking John was giving him the chance to say it, inhaled deeply, his heart pounding hard in his chest, and said: <em>That's what I was suggesting</em>. But John replied: <em>No it wasn't... at least I hope not</em>. </p><p><em> At least I hope not</em>. John's response broke his heart, hopes and dreams: Those words hit him like a truck. Not because it was the first time someone rejected dating him (it was the second; the first time he was too high to be hurt), but because of what those words implied: John hoped he didn't try to date him again, or to get close to him in a romantic way.</p><p>He panicked. He showed his hand and John's rejection was firm. One more false move and John would pack and moved out with her, and he would be alone again. </p><p>Suddenly, the idea of being alone terrified him. It never happened to him before. Alone was what he had, what protected him. It always was his best companion. In solitude he overcame his darkest moments, he learned to put aside the pain, the anguish, the sorrow. He fell a thousand times in isolation and got up again, and when he could not do it anymore, he resorted to drugs. </p><p>But he never trusted another human being. He knew how much harm they could do to him. He learnt he could not love or be loved by anyone, that no one could understand his moods, lack of ability with emotions, and his relentless brain. Everybody ran away from him after a few minutes of meeting him. He never expected finding someone who didn't consider him a freak until John came along. And now, the idea of losing him was so frightening that he couldn't breathe. </p><p>"Hello" greeted Samantha, waving her hand, as she entered holding John's hand "thank you for inviting me". </p><p>"Oh, it was the least we could do, my dear" replied Mrs Hudson "John doesn't stop talking about you". </p><p>The doctor blushed and looked down while Samantha smiled. He sat on his armchair and she on his knees.</p><p>Sherlock, who was in his own armchair, got up and moved towards the window, unable to stand looking at them. The fact John brought her to Christmas Eve dinner indicated their relationship was serious, as Mrs Hudson suggested.</p><p>He closed his eyes tightly, trying to calm down, pulled out his phone and looked at it, undecided. Finally, he left it on the table and continued to look out the window, ignoring the other guests.  </p><p>"Mrs H, you've put two extra plates on," Molly observed.</p><p>"No, my dear, today there will be two more of us." </p><p>"Who?"</p><p>"I don't know. Sherlock asked me to add them." </p><p>They all turned to the detective. </p><p>"You haven't invited any of your homeless, have you, dear brother?" asked Mycroft, a bit annoyed "Last year's dinner was bad enough with one of them". </p><p>"It's none of your…."</p><p>The bell rang again, and Sherlock went to open the door. They heard murmurs, and Mike Stanford appeared in the room. </p><p>"Hello, everybody, Merry Christmas!!" he shouted cheerfully. </p><p>"Mike, I didn't know you were coming," smiled John, standing up and shaking his hand warmly. He turned to the woman "This is Samantha. This is Mike Stanford. He introduced me to Sherlock". </p><p>"Nice to meet you" greeted Mike, smiling forcibly at the woman. </p><p>"And your wife and children?"</p><p>"They have gone to my mother-in-law's house. She's a little bit down and since I'm on duty... Sherlock asked me if I wanted to come, although I think he only did it so that Ralph wouldn't feel so violent". </p><p>"One of your colleagues?" asked Molly. </p><p>"Colleagues?" Mike looked at her in surprise "Ahhh, how Sherlock likes a good mystery. No. Ralph is his date". </p><p>There was a thunderous stunned silence in the room as they looked aghast at Mike, until Sherlock returned to the room, holding hands with this Ralph.</p><p>"Hello" he greeted shyly, "I hope I'm not disturbing...". </p><p>"You're not disturbing" Sherlock cut him off "This is Ralph", he said as if that explained everything. </p><p>Lestrade shook his head out of his amazement and smiled. </p><p>"A little punch?" </p><p>"Oh, yes, thank you. Sher doesn't like me to drink, but since we have company..." he smiled, taking the drink the DI offered. </p><p>"Sher?" repeated Molly, mockingly.</p><p>She was amazed at Ralph's resemblance to John. Similar in height and build, the same blond hair, blue eyes..., the only difference was that Ralph wore a black suit with a white shirt and a half-open rose on his jacket buttonhole; otherwise, sitting together, they would look like brothers.  </p><p>"Ralph..." Sherlock recited to him, reddening slightly. </p><p>"Oh, Sherlock doesn't like me to use pet names in public. You know, the only consulting detective in the world, cold and distant and all that, but it's not like that when we're alone..." he mocked, slapping the detective's ass, who had stepped up to his chair. </p><p>"And... how did you meet?" asked John after picking his jaw from the floor, trying to control the jealousy explosion caused when that idiot's hand made contact with the fabulous detective's ass. </p><p>He understood then why Sherlock put on that damn purple shirt that made his bisexuality stir inside him, the one he was dying to tear off. He thought that the detective wanted to make him notice it. But the look Ralph gave Sherlock left little doubt about what he intended to do with that shirt after dinner. </p><p>"Mike introduced us," they both replied in chorus. </p><p>Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, and Ralph on the armchair's arm, running a hand over the detective's shoulders, gently caressing his neck with his thumb. The rest looked at them, unable to believe the detective seemed so comfortable with Ralph caressing him. And not only comfortable. He looked about to starting purring at any time, John thought, barely containing the impulse of breaking that dammed thumb. </p><p>"Mike?" Lestrade asked, amazed by coincidence, glancing at Mycroft, who was looking at his brother with narrowed eyes. </p><p>"Yes, Sherlock told me that he needed an assistant for a case, and I thought of him. I was on call, and there wasn't much work at Bart's'.</p><p>"What case? I haven't given you any lately," Lestrade said, surprised. </p><p>"You didn't tell me about a case" added John, annoyed.</p><p>"A dull Mycroft's case. I didn't want to bother you," replied the detective. </p><p>"You said you weren't going to work on any more of his cases" hissed the doctor, frowning deep. </p><p>"Well, this....", he turned to Ralph" had a unique appeal", he said softly, stroking the man's cheek with his index finger. </p><p>Donovan was so dumbfounded that Lestrade was tempted to close her mouth, but he had difficulty to close his own, as well as the rest of them. </p><p>Ralph chuckled, blushed slightly and kissed him on the cheek. </p><p>"You silly..." </p><p>"I need something stronger", said the landlady getting up, going to the fireplace and pouring herself a whiskey. </p><p>"I'll have another, Mrs Hudson," asked Mycroft, looking at his smugly smiling brother in amazement. </p><p>"Me too," said Lestrade, Molly, Tom, Donovan, and Anderson in chorus. </p><p>"A double, please," asked John.</p><p>"You want one, Ralph?" asked Mrs Hudson. </p><p>"Oh, no, I'm fine, thank you. I have anything I need," he smiled, embracing the detective, who smiled back beatifically, glancing sideways at John. </p><p>The doctor stirred in his seat, forcing a smile, ignoring the pang of jealousy that Ralph's appearance at dinner made him feel. How the hell he managed to date Sherlock? Wasn't he married to his dammed work?</p><p>The prick became more painful when he remembered that, during December, when he went down to the living room to make tea or eat something after sex, the detective was not at home. He always thought he must have gone for a walk or on a case, but it was obvious who he had spent the nights with. </p><p>"So Mike introduced you?" Mrs Hudson asked. </p><p>Ralph nodded. </p><p>"When he told me that someone was looking for an assistant, I never thought it was a Greek god". </p><p>Sherlock blushed to the root of his hair but said nothing. John inhaled deeply, the urge of strangling that man increasingly difficult to control.</p><p>"And when he opened his mouth and spoke to me in that voice.... God, I melted". </p><p>"Because of the freak?" asked Donovan, who finally regained her ability to talk. </p><p>"Don't call him that," protested Ralph, to everyone's amazement. "And not only because of his voice, when he started to deduce me from......, I thought that I could…, well, you know what I mean." </p><p>All chuckled awkwardly. </p><p>"Well, you won't say the same when we have to put your body in a bag," Donovan sneered. </p><p>"And when did you start going out?" asked Lestrade, glancing back at the sergeant and sidelong at John, who closed his eyes, hoping the conversation ended soon.</p><p>"I asked him the first night of the case when he took me to dinner at Angelo's," replied Ralph.</p><p>"Angelo's?" almost squealed John, looking at him in disbelief.</p><p>The pang of jealousy turned into a deep and painful stabbing. Angelo's was <em>their</em> restaurant. His and Sherlock's. Their special place. And that cretin didn't have... At least he hoped that...</p><p>"He sat us on a beautiful table by the window and said that everything was free, for Sherlock and his date. He brought us a candle. It was so romantic... He told me what Sherlock did for him, and in that instant, I fell in love even more with him". </p><p>John closed his eyes. That had to be some cosmic punishment. That idiot was telling step by step what happened to him when he met Sherlock. But, for his cowardice and fear of acknowledging his bisexuality, now it was another man sitting on the couch next to Sherlock.</p><p>"He also told you that he was married to his job?" he asked sourly. </p><p>"Oh yes, but I thought: you can be married to the Pope if you want, but you won't run away from me. And he didn't" he said, proudly and Sherlock smiled at him. </p><p>There was a new shocked silence. </p><p>"Sherlock, dear, why don't you play us something on the violin?" asked Mrs Hudson, trying to diffuse the tension in the air, fearing that, if John continued to look at Ralph with such a mixture of jealousy and hatred, the man would explode or be instantly charred. </p><p>"Yes, Sher, let's play something," said Ralph, standing up. </p><p>"Do you play the violin, too?" asked Molly. </p><p>"No, Ralph plays the clarinet" responded Sherlock and John reaffirmed himself that this was the punishment of some mischievous god tired of his indecision. </p><p>The detective took the case to get his violin, and Ralph went into the hall. Afterwards, Sherlock came out after him, and they heard them whispering about what to play. </p><p>"Mycroft, did you know about him?" asked John. </p><p>"Do you doubt it?" </p><p>"Have you already kidnapped him and stuck your nose into his life?"</p><p>"Of course, even more so given Sherlock's interest in him". </p><p>"Interest? They're going out together!" shouted John in a whisper. </p><p>"I know, Doctor Watson, I have the flat under surveillance, his room included, remember?"</p><p>"His ... his room?" asked John, confused and incredulous. Did he mean that... dammed clarinettist had fucked Sherlock? In his bed? While he was sleeping upstairs? What the hell was going on?</p><p>Before Mycroft could answer, Ralph and Sherlock returned to the living room. They stood opposite each other in the centre of it, attracting all the glances, both looking at each other with complicity, the detective giving him one of his rare smiles that only used to give him, the doctor thought bitterly. </p><p>"I'm not as good as Sherlock, don't expect anything special," smiled Ralph</p><p>"Don't listen to him. He's a master with his hands and mouth" smiled the detective.</p><p> John's glass dropped from his hands, and the whisky spilt on the floor. </p><p>"Don't worry, dear, I'll get it," smiled Mrs Hudson, going to the kitchen to get a cloth. </p><p>Unable to bear it any longer, John got up from his chair and gestured furiously to Lestrade. They both moved upstairs to his bedroom, and he closed the door behind them. </p><p>"Can you tell me what this is about? What the hell is going on here?" he grunted angrily. </p><p>"I don't know, John. I am as shocked as you." </p><p>"It was your idea" snarled the doctor. "Make him jealous, John, go out with a girl, pretend your relationship is serious and, sooner or later, Sherlock will confess he is in love with you. And now he has a boyfriend!" he shouted, hurt and angry. </p><p>"Keep it down!" warned Lestrade.</p><p>"And why did you invite those two idiots? Donovan keeps calling him a freak and that... idiot came to Sherlock's defence, in front of everyone, just as I never did!." </p><p>Lestrade sighed, resigned. </p><p>"Donovan heard me talking to you on the phone. It was easy for her to guess what we were up to and threatened to tell Sherlock if I didn't invite her. And Anderson was in the pack". </p><p>"Great". </p><p>John paced through the bedroom like a lion in a cage. </p><p>"Don't be mad" tried to reassure Lestrade "Maybe he's just a friend?"</p><p>"Just a friend? Just a friend? That's your great conclusion?" grunted John. "Let's see. How many friends does Sherlock have that slap his ass? Or, better yet, how many friends does Sherlock have?"</p><p>"Well, why did you say no when he asked you out?"</p><p>"Because .... because he turned me down at Angelo's" John mused. </p><p>Lestrade watched him, incredulous. </p><p>"Are you kidding?"</p><p>John stopped. He didn't like Lestrade's scolding tone. </p><p>"Do you know how many men rejected me before Sherlock? Not one. Not one" he repeated, "The minute I started flirting with them, they were on their knees with their mouths open". </p><p>Lestrade closed his eyes, waving a hand. Too much information. He was still getting used to the fact that John was bisexual and had fallen in love with Sherlock. And, what was even more surprising that Sherlock fell in love with him.</p><p>Since he met him, the doctor shouted at the top of his lungs that he wasn't gay. But Lestrade always had his doubts, mainly when the doctor instinctively licked his lips when Sherlock got down on all fours to investigate a dead body.</p><p>"All right, Mr Wounded Pride. And what do you propose we do?"</p><p>The doctor kept walking around the room, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers while thinking. </p><p>"I want you to investigate him," he grunted, "turn him over like a sock. I want to know everything about him. He could be a criminal who is approaching Sherlock to kill him after... or..."</p><p>"Fuck him!?"</p><p>"You're not helping!!!!" </p><p>"You heard Mycroft. He investigated him. And, although I can deny he is surprised, he is calm. He knows everything about him, so Ralph is not dangerous". </p><p>"I don't care. Since Mycroft started dating you, he became an idiot". </p><p>Lestrade pursed his lips, upset. </p><p>"Sorry, I meant he's more distracted and may have missed something". </p><p>"John, Mycroft doesn't miss anything about Sherlock. He's obsessed with his safety, remember?"</p><p>"Okay, so what do I do? Because your plan has been shitty".</p><p>"Look, I think it's best if you try to calm down. It's just a dinner. Then, when this Ralph guy leaves, talk to Sherlock and be honest with him". </p><p>"What if he prefers Ralph?" John was distressed. "You've already seen him. He's a lively and friendly guy, without PTSD or any of my... complexes. What if he's decided that...?"</p><p>"Stop it, John. Making you nervous isn't going to help you at all. And stop looking at him like that. Even Anderson would know who killed him if we found his body tomorrow in the snow. It's dinner. Nothing more". </p><p>John inspired, still walking in circles. </p><p>"It's all right. A dinner. I can do it". </p><p>"That's the way. Let's go before Mycroft comes upstairs to check if we are celebrating Christmas Eve in our way".</p><p>"All right. You go down first. I'll be right down. I need a minute".  </p><p>Lestrade nodded and walked down the stairs, contrite. It hurt him that John had such a hard time. When he went to his office to ask for advice on getting Sherlock to date him, admitting he was in love with the detective to the core, Lestrade advised him to talk to him, to express his feelings, but John flatly refused. He was too afraid that he was wrong and that it would spoil their friendship. </p><p>The most puzzling thing was he was sure Sherlock felt the same for John. Lestrade noticed small changes in the detective's behaviour, more attentive to him, less grumpy or less sharp when talking to him, but he thought it was because their friendship had deepened. It was Donovan, in a mocking tone, told him that Sherlock was crazy about him. </p><p>In the room, John sighed. He had been such a stupid… Sherlock's refusal still stung him when he refused his clumsy invitation saying he had a date with Sarah. He was sure the detective would ask him again. If there was one thing that characterised him, he determined to achieve what he wanted. So, next time Sherlock invited him, he would say yes.</p><p>But Sherlock did not bring up the subject again. True, he tried (and succeeded) to break his date with Sarah, but he never again showed any romantic interest in John. He didn't ask for a date; he didn't insinuate anything. So John concluded he was wrong; Sherlock didn't feel anything for John. He hadn't fallen in love with him, from John's dismay.</p><p>So he never said anything either. Confessing his feelings to him, only make him look like an idiot. And, what was worst, the detective could feel uncomfortable and decide that he no longer wanted John in his life. And, without Sherlock, he had no life. He would vegetate again in a dingy room, and everything he had known until then, anything that helped him to feel alive again, to forget about his gun each morning, to feel that life was worth living, would vanish. </p><p>That's why he and Lestrade came up with a plan: John would make Sherlock jealous. Dating a woman, pretending to be in a serious relationship with her, and making love aloud in Baker Street until Sherlock was no longer able to stand it and confessed his love for him. </p><p>But, too late, he realised they had not counted on Sherlock's complete inability to read feelings, his or other's. Judging by the result, the conclusion he reached was that John wanted to tell him that he only wanted to be with women. And so he decided that there was no point in waiting for him any longer. </p><p>He went back to the living room and felt his blood boil and his heart drop listening to the couple's chuckles and whispers in the centre of the room, choosing what to play. Unable to bear everyone's gaze fixed on him, he entered the kitchen and approached Mrs Hudson, who prepared tea. </p><p>"It will do you good," she smiled, holding out a cup to him. </p><p>"Did you know about… him?" John whispered. </p><p>She nodded. </p><p>"Sherlock asked me if he could bring someone special to dinner, and I said yes, of course," he replied in the same tone. </p><p>"Someone special?" John felt about to cry. How could everything have gone so wrong? </p><p>"That's what he said". </p><p>"And why didn't he say anything to me?" whispered John. </p><p>"I don't know, dear. That's something you have to ask him". </p><p>At that moment, Ralph and Sherlock, after more stupid schoolgirls like giggles that made the doctor's blood pressure fly, began to play. John recognised <em>Baby it's cold outside</em> melody and looked at them, incredulous, listening to both instruments' dialogue as if they were the two voices of the song. Both men looked at each other, softly (and sensually in Sherlock's case or at least John did) moving their hips to the music's rhythm. </p><p>"You know, when you and Sherlock first came here I always thought it would be you two would end up like this "smiled Mrs Hudson putting a cup of tea in the doctor's hands "but life is curious. You with Samantha, Sherlock with Ralph...., you will tell me if we have to prepare a double wedding" she mumbled. </p><p>"We... wedding? Sherlock talked about a wedding?" </p><p>"Oh, no, but..., it's clear that they get along very well..." smiled Mrs Hudson. </p><p>John reluctantly moved to his chair next to Samantha's. He sat quietly, tried to dispel his anger, ignoring the smile she gave him and the looks that Mycroft, Lestrade, Molly and Mrs Hudson exchanged, Donovan and Anderson's amazement, wondering how he could have been so blind. He assumed that Sherlock would always be there, waiting for him, available to him. And now it was too late.  </p><p>Well. It was only dinner, as Lestrade said. Only a dinner. He thought he could do it as they sat at the table, and Mrs Hudson began to serve the dishes.</p><p>"Sher, try the sauce," Ralph's voice brought him out of his reverie to watch him prick the lobster tail on his plate and give it to Sherlock, who, compliantly (and obscenely), licked the sauce off it. John fixed his gaze on the detective's mouth, and couldn't help but imagine that tongue licking his cock, running it up and down, or giving him little licks on the tip. </p><p>The image aroused him, making his cock twitching, longing for that mouth, mostly when Sherlock, who easily swallowed the entire lobster's tail, was pulling it out his mouth, completely clean of mayonnaise, his eyes fixed in Ralph. God, if he didn't stop doing that...</p><p>John swallowed audibly, and his excitement mixed with anger and jealousy noticing something similar must be going through Ralph's head, as he stared at the lobster coming out from the detective's mouth, instinctively licking his lips, his mouth half-opened. Sherlock, to John's astonishment, winked at him, a sure promise of what was to come next, which made Ralph stir on the table, no doubt to adjust his trousers to his inevitable erection. </p><p>Molly, Tom, Lestrade, Mycroft, Mike and Mrs Hudson were palpably trying to ignore what was going on at the table, apparently absorbed in their conversation, while Donovan and Anderson couldn't take their eyes off the couple, trying to figure out when they moved into a parallel world where the freak was sexy, seductive and horny. From time to time, Mike was the only one who cast a glance at the detective and Ralph and then at John, as if boasting about the great matchmaker he made of, which made John turn his anger against him as well. </p><p>He barely managed to finish his dinner, ignoring Samantha's attempts to feed him from her plate or to make conversation, wishing he had the power to disintegrate the bloody clarinettist with his eyes.</p><p>Instead, he had to endure watching him feed Sherlock while he happily devoured everything Ralph gave him, gluttonously licking his fingers to clean them after Ralph offered him a piece of meat, only stopping at a Mycroft's uncomfortable hawking, while Donovan and Anderson looking at him with his eyes out of his head. </p><p>When dinner finished, he sighed, relieved, thinking that his torment was over. But Mrs Hudson got up and played carols. </p><p>"Come on," she encouraged, "everybody dance!"</p><p>Molly got up and went next to her, and they both danced the Jingle Bell Rock, the landlady complaining about her hip and laughing at the movements that Molly wanted to teach her. Mycroft and Lestrade declined the invitation, claiming they preferred to stay as spectators, while Mike and Tom got up and danced with the landlady and the pathologist. Donovan and Anderson got up too and showed some skill at rocking out, the sergeant leading the dance.</p><p>John pulled Samantha out to dance, glueing his body to the woman's, ignoring Sherlock's gaze fixed on him.</p><p>When the carol was over, Ralph stood up and pulled Sherlock, trying to move him to the living room's centre. The detective refused, looking sideways at Donovan and Anderson, blushing pink-red. </p><p>John smiled for himself. Fuck you, Ralph. You have no idea who you're playing with, he thought. With a little luck, their romance would end there. Fuck off, Ralph. If Sherlock didn't want to do something, he wouldn't do it. </p><p>But, to his dismay, when Ralph bent down and whispered something in his ear, the detective, nervous and blushing, stood up and both occupied the centre of the room. The tango "<em>Por una cabeza</em>" notes began to fill the room to everyone's amazement.</p><p>John almost fell from the chair when Ralph, as the violin music began to play, took the rose from his lapel and softly stroked Sherlock's forehead with it, rubbing it down his nose, mouth and chin. The detective raised his head, offering his neck and the rose continued to caress that ivory skin. John, his eyes fixed on the flower, imagined it was his mouth that kissed that long, slender neck that more than once he wished to kiss and nibble until his brain reminded him that he was not gay. </p><p>With the strong piano accords, Sherlock, in a quick movement, took the rose from Ralph's hand and put it in his mouth. He embraced Ralph while holding his right hand, as the clarinet player grabbed him by the waist, his hand too close to Sherlock's ass than John could tolerate, and both of them spun around the room, perfectly coordinated. </p><p>It was undoubtedly not the first time they danced that damned tango, especially when Sherlock let himself fall on Ralph's arm, who slowly raised him, bringing his mouth dangerously close to the detective's. When John was sure that he would kiss him, he took the rose out of his mouth, and, when Sherlock let himself falling again on his arm, he, grabbing him by the waist, dragged him across the room. The detective let himself go, absolutely and passionately surrendered and submissive to the firm and dominant Ralph, who lifted him without difficulty in a show of strength. </p><p>The two men stood face to face, panting, lost in each other eyes, showing an intimacy that shattered any little hope John had that Sherlock would forget about the man, moreover when Sherlock took the rose from Ralph's mouth with his lips and, with a blatantly sexual movement of his tongue, put it back in his mouth. </p><p>"How well they dance," whispered Samantha, "Did you knew the Tango is the sexiest and most romantic dance for a couple?"</p><p>"Shut up," snarled the doctor, as Sherlock turned around the room, his curls sensually accompanying the movement of his head, and then back into Ralph's arms. </p><p>Sherlock danced beautifully, moving his body gracefully to the music, his movements perfect, sensual and erotic. John clenched his fists as Sherlock, bending one leg while stretching the other, slid down to the floor, almost kneeling before Ralph, his face lowering across Ralph's chest, waist, and navel, as he ran his hand across his groin down his leg, too close to the bulge in Ralph's trousers.</p><p>He closed his eyes, trying to contain his jealousy, his anger, how stupid he felt that it was that idiot and not him who was dancing with Sherlock like that. </p><p>He breathed in, trying to calm himself. It was just a dance. Just a damn dance. A fucking hot, intimate, sexy and exciting dance, which was turning on the bloody clarinettist as hell. </p><p>And not only him. He could see Lestrade stirring in his chair, looking lewdly at Mycroft, the same predatory way Tom was looking at Molly. Even Donovan was looking at the detective with an interest that was driving John mad with jealousy. </p><p>But the worst was Sherlock, the blush on his cheeks coming down his neck, his half-open mouth and his half-smile, his plump lower lip slightly moistened by saliva and the rose between his teeth. God, why did the image of Sherlock with a rose in his mouth was so absolutely arousing?</p><p>"Are you all right, John?" Molly asked, worried "you're sweating". </p><p>"Yes, it's... the... punch" he lied, his eyes fixed on Sherlock's hips. The tango ended up giving way to Santa Baby (why the hell had Mrs Hudson chosen that carol?). Everyone looked on in amazement as Sherlock sensually swayed his hips, while Ralph, glued to his back, held him by the waist. Everyone except John, who was fixed in Ralph's hands, his fingers dangerously close to the detective's groin. </p><p>When Ralph shamelessly rubbed his erection with Sherlock's ass, John stood up and pushed Ralph hard across the room. </p><p>"John, what….?" asked the detective. </p><p>But he couldn't say anything else, because John pushed him, forcing him to walk backwards, until his back hit one of the walls, and pulled the flaps of his jacket, forcing him to bend down, and then grabbing him by the sides of his face and pulling him into his lips. </p><p>"Hey, what the hell?" said Ralph, grabbing John by the arm. </p><p>The doctor turned around and punched him, causing him to stagger backwards. </p><p>"Don't ever lay a finger on him again. Sherlock is mine!" </p><p>"John, stop that" Lestrade shouted. "John, John!"</p><p>"John, John! We have to drink a toast!!"</p><p>Samantha's nervous and angry tone brought him back to reality, taking him out of his fantasy. He hadn't punch Ralph and hadn't kissed Sherlock. Instead, they both were standing, raising their champagne glasses as everyone. Lestrade looked at him, worried, and Sherlock watched him squinting, analysing him. </p><p>For a moment, he thought it was all a dream. But it wasn't. Ralph was there, looking at him defiantly, his hand on Sherlock's waist, making it clear that he was his possession, and even worse, the detective was delighted of it. </p><p>They toasted and, soon after, they took their coats to move out of the flat. John, saddened and defeated, watched Ralph helping the detective put his coat on and lovingly tied the scarf around his neck, something that John had wanted to do so many times... for a second, he fooled himself, thinking they would go out for a drink. But they didn't. Ralph's predatory look made clear that he would be fucking Sherlock as soon as he could, perhaps even in the cab... God...</p><p>He was soon alone at the flat. When everyone left, he asked Samantha to go. Dejected and exhausted, he went to his bedroom. He would try to sleep and think about what to do.  </p><p>After two hours of tossing and turning his bed, unable to shake the image of Ralph kissing Sherlock's body, as the detective swallowed Ralph's cock, and being brutally fucked by him, he got up. As much as it hurt, there was no other solution. He opened the wardrobe, took out the suitcase and threw it on the bed. What a shit on Christmas Eve. What a shit of Christmas day. </p><p>When he finished, he went slowly down to the living room. The lights on the tree, still on, seemed to make fun of him. He went over and turned them off, looking sadly at the packages piled under it. </p><p>On Christmas afternoon they would meet again to open the presents. Not all of them. He wouldn't be there. With Ralph in the equation, he was left over. </p><p>And if enduring them together on Christmas Eve had been almost unbearable, he didn't want to imagine what awaited him if he stayed. Sherlock would no longer ask him to accompany him on cases. He would have to see them arrive, happy and full of adrenaline after they chased a murderer or a thief, the two of them having a cup of tea and sitting on the sofa, kissing, commenting on the chase, laughing... and he, he lost his chance in a deafening way. </p><p>Somehow, he deserved it. He had been a jerk thinking, like everyone else, that no one would want to get close to Sherlock, no one would notice or fall in love with him. He underestimated him as much as Donovan or Anderson, seeing him as the Freak no one would want to have around. </p><p>Lestrade warned him. Sherlock could be weird and asocial, but he had a special magnetism, and not just because he was gorgeous or had a breathtaking ass. Even he, when he met him, was attracted to Sherlock. And only the fact that Lestrade was still married and Sherlock was utterly drugged and not very aware of what he was doing, prevented him from drag the detective to his bed. </p><p>He carefully placed the gift he bought for Sherlock, blinking to hold back his tears. How had he missed the shot so badly? How had he not realised that Sherlock was dating someone? If he had paid attention to him, he could have stopped the whole mess, but now… </p><p>He heard the key in the lock and Sherlock's footsteps on the stairs. Shit. He had counted on leaving before the detective returned. </p><p>His face was red from the cold, and there was some snow in his hair. John held back the urge to go over and shake it off and turned to put the kettle, expecting to hear the usual sounds of Sherlock coming home: the rubbing of his coat as it rolled over his suit, the footsteps moving towards the living room, the creaking of the sofa, but he heard none of it. Intrigued, he turned to him. Sherlock was petrified in the hall, his hands on the scarf, his eyes fixed on John's suitcases. </p><p>"What is this?" he finally asked in a shocked whisper. </p><p>"You are the genius here." John answered sourly "Figure it out". </p><p>"You're going to spend a few days with Harry?" he noted in Sherlock's hopeful tone that he knew it wasn't the answer. </p><p>John remained silent for a few minutes. But he was a soldier, and he knew that postponing a battle only led to disaster. </p><p>"I'm leaving. I prefer doing it instead than be asked to leave because you and Ralph want to live here". </p><p>"Ralph and I?" Sherlock repeated, shocked. </p><p>"What was your great plan, to tell me one morning on a case? Or on the wedding invitation? I'm sorry, John, but you have to leave because my future husband is coming to live in Baker Street? Or did you expect the three of us to live together?" John narrowed his eyes "or were you going to move out without telling me?"</p><p>Sherlock looked at the floor and didn't respond. John snorted sadly, incredulously shaking his head. </p><p>"So was that. You planned to disappear with your Ralph without warning me. It's clear how little you care about me" he ended sourly. </p><p>He left the cup in the sink with a bang. Sherlock's silence hurt him even more. He was expecting him to say he was wrong, that he did care, that he ..., but the detective remained at the door, his hands on the scarf, his head down, guilty and silent. </p><p>Furious, he put on his jacket and took the bags. </p><p>"Merry Christmas Sherlock. I wish you and Ralph to be happy. Tomorrow I will send someone to pick the rest of my things," he grunted, opening the door. </p><p>He walked down the steps with difficulty, grunting every time the bulky suitcases hit the railing, holding back tears, anger, sadness, loneliness and, pain, hurt by the utter contempt Sherlock showed for him now that he found someone. Damn Sherlock Holmes! He opened the door and walked out into the street where the icy wind hit him hard, and he almost slipped in the doorstep. He wanted to shout in rage. </p><p>"He is an actor."</p><p>He stopped short at Sherlock's words. He turned with difficulty to him, who with his coat still on, his head down, was on the landing of 221B. </p><p>"What did you say?"</p><p>Sherlock pressed his eyes with his hands, ashamed and embarrassed, without lifting his head. He couldn't. He couldn't look John in the face. But he couldn't let him go away believing he didn't care for him, that he didn't love him. </p><p>"Ralph is an actor."</p><p>"An actor?"</p><p>"For God's sake, don't make me repeat it," he begged, humiliation bathing his voice. </p><p>John dropped the bags on the floor. </p><p>"What did you want? To hurt me?"</p><p>Sherlock shook his head. </p><p>John climbed a couple of steps. </p><p>"Why did you bring him tonight, then?"</p><p>"Because..., because you kept bringing that horrible woman to the flat and… I was desperate and I..., I talked to Mike and..."</p><p>"With Mike?"</p><p>"He advised me to pretend to have... a boyfriend to… make you jealous" he mused, his last words almost inaudible. "Well, he first advised me to talk to you but..., I was too scared to do it, soo..."</p><p>"Jealous?"</p><p>John began to laugh, softly at first and then madly. Sherlock looked at him, shocked and hurt. He turned around and entered the flat, slamming the door behind, John's laughter haunting him as he entered his bedroom. </p><p>John was still laughing on the stairs, surprised at how idiots the two of them had been. When he finally got himself together, he went upstairs and entered the flat. The living room was empty. He walked to Sherlock's bedroom and knocked on the door. There was no answer. </p><p>"Sherlock, please open the door". </p><p>He knocked again. He didn't get a reply, either. He slowly opened the door and saw Sherlock sitting on the bed, his coat still on, hands on his hair, eyes full of tears, his face showing how hurt and ashamed he felt. He hesitated for a few moments, his heart swollen by what Sherlock did for him. </p><p>"Come on, keep laughing" he whispered in a hurt tone "I know I am pathetic". </p><p>"You are not pathetic. You are an idiot". </p><p>Sherlock frowned, distressed, but didn't say anything. </p><p>"You are an idiot, for not realising I was trying to make you jealous too". </p><p>Sherlock blinked and slowly raised his head, cautiously looking at John.</p><p>"And what you did is the most lovable thing anyone has ever done for me". </p><p>The detective lowered his head, his face slowly regarding his impassive mask he showed to the world when he was hurt, and John realised that there was no room for the idea that John could be in love with him in his big brain. </p><p>He decided that Sherlock would freak out if he didn't act quickly, raising the walls that would pull them apart again, so he needed a massive, devastating surprise attack. </p><p>He walked and moved in front of the detective, who stood and turned away, crestfallen. </p><p>"Are you going to kiss me now?"</p><p>Sherlock blinked, wondering if he understood correctly. Slowly he turned to John, raised his head and looked at him blankly.</p><p>"Are you going to kiss me? Because if you don't do it right now, I'm going to get my diary and call Sarah, Samantha or whoever picks the phone. I'm allowing you to take the first step or say no, as you wish, but that opportunity will not last more than five seconds".</p><p>Sherlock stared at him, and John's heart sank, noticing the fear in his eyes. Fear of rejection, of mockery, of humiliation. </p><p>"Five..."</p><p>"Four..."</p><p>"Three..."</p><p>"John, I..."</p><p>"Two..."</p><p>"O…"</p><p>Before he could finish, the detective pounced on him, smashing him against the wall, kissing him anxiously, one hand clutching his blond hair, almost immobilising his head, the other on the back of his neck, to make sure John would not break the kiss. </p><p>But the doctor had no intention of doing so. He pressed the detective against himself, and put his tongue between his half-open lips, playing with Sherlock's, who seemed surprised at first, but gently fiddled with his tongue over John's. The doctor noticed a stream of desire running through his body to his hardening cock, especially when he felt Sherlock's cock swelling against his. </p><p>The detective must have noticed it too because he broke the kiss and moved away from him. John frowned, worried. </p><p>"What's the matter?"</p><p>I..., I don't..."</p><p>"Do you want to stop? Do you want us to leave it here?" he asked in a hoarse voice, trying to use the most neutral tone possible. If Sherlock wanted to stop there, that was his right. John would have preferred to do it before the kiss, but...</p><p>The detective shook his head, struggling with the words, as his cheeks turned red. He took a deep breath. </p><p>"I've never gone beyond that," he confessed at last. </p><p>"Never?"</p><p>The detective shook his head in frustration, a silent prayer (don't make me repeat it) in his eyes. Still, he retook a breath. </p><p>"I don't know how to go on, what to do. I never...". </p><p>"You haven't gone past kissing anyone?"</p><p>"Of a kiss. A closed mouth one". </p><p>John looked at him, surprised. He was sure that Sherlock was a virgin, but he thought he had some experience, even if it was only for science. </p><p>"Something beyond the kiss... caresses... mutual masturbation..."</p><p>"No... no one... and I..."</p><p>Sherlock blushed even more and shook his head.</p><p>John knew that it wasn't just the idea of being a total neophyte on sex in front of someone as experienced as he was what made him blush, but the shame for being different, that no one would have ever wanted to caress or touch him, even if he would let anyone do it. Of avoiding physical contact and not looking for it, except with John. Of being a freak also at John's eyes.</p><p>The doctor smiled fondly, caressing Sherlock's lips with his thumb, trying to instil confidence in him. </p><p>Sherlock looked at him, deducing his face, wondering if John was making fun of him. Because he was sure that he was; but he saw him smiling softly, felt his thumb caressing the back of his hand, while with the other rubbed his jaw, his lip, in a soft and tender gesture that, he didn't know why, made him feel good. He tilted head, to increase the contact with John's hand. </p><p>John felt a deep tenderness mixed with sorrow, for the loneliness that surrounded Sherlock until now, both physically and emotionally. Because he had not felt the caress of a loved one, not only in a sexual way but for mere affection. He had never been kissed, nor hugged, nor feel loved. Tenderness because he had seen Sherlock fight human monsters, face death without blinking, pursue dangerous criminals without flinching and there he was, frightened and trembling as he entered the only terrain he never dared to explore. And not only for the physical part. John knew it was the intimacy of sex, the vulnerability of being so deeply connected to another human being, what he feared. If Sherlock wanted, they would explore it together. </p><p>"The question is not whether you know how to follow. Your body knows. The question is, do you want to go on?"</p><p>Sherlock nodded, blushing deeper, his eyes darkening at John's words. </p><p>John took his face in his hands and kissed him gently, slowly, enjoying the touch of those lips he dreamed of kissing for so long. He slowly took off his coat. The detective let himself go, staring into his eyes and John lost himself again in that blue-green look, like the day he met him in Bart's. </p><p>Slowly, he began to unbutton Sherlock's shirt, without touching the skin behind it to not overwhelming him, pausing a little at each button, giving Sherlock time to back out. </p><p>John took off his jacket, then opened his shirt while kissing the detective's jaw, down the neck. Sherlock emitted a soft moan, which he cut off immediately, in astonishment of the sound he just produced.</p><p> John smiled. He put his hands on his shoulders and began to caress down the detective's chest. As his thumb approached one of his nipples, Sherlock clutched John's biceps tightly. </p><p>He stopped. The detective was panting slightly, his mouth half-open, his pupils dilated and judging by the bulge in his cock, he was enjoying John's ministrations. The doctor smiled; understanding the detective was a bit overwhelmed, he moved his hands out of Sherlock, and then took off his jumper and t-shirt. The detective's gaze fell on his scar. </p><p>Sherlock reached shyly over it, looking at John, who nodded. He brushed the bulging, twisted skin of the scar with his fingertips. John placed his hand on Sherlock's shoulder, mimicking the detective's hand's trajectory as it descended across his chest. </p><p>John closed his eyes, suppressing a shudder. A lot of nights, while masturbating, he imagined Sherlock's hands touching his skin, the caress of his fingers. But the real touch was even more incredible, perhaps because of the shyness and insecurity while running down his skin, touching him almost in a reverential way as if he still didn't believe that was really happening. </p><p>He bit his lower lip when Sherlock's fingers surrounded his nipple, swelling and hardening it, desire burning inside them. His hand imitated Sherlock's, covering the detective's nipple. Their bodies trembled slightly, his breaths became agitated, as their nipples hardened along with their cocks. </p><p>In Sherlock's eyes, fixed on his own, he read the multitude of new sensations that he strove to catalogue, keeping his other hand on John's bicep, a safe place to cling to. John gently pinched his nipple, and the detective tensed up and closed his eyes, throwing his head back, his legs shaking. He tightened his lips, avoid emitting any of the embarrassing gasps that struggle to come out form this throat. </p><p>John was pleasantly surprised. He knew that the detective was sensitive, but not so deliciously sensitive. The sensations, new and intense, must be brutal for him. He pushed him backwards until the detective stumbled with the bed and sat on it. Sherlock looked at him like a child looking at a giant. </p><p>He grabbed his hand, and Sherlock swallowed, holding John's hand tightly as if he feared drowning if he let it go. John tossed his shoes and removed his socks, and Sherlock mimicked him. Then John pushed him gently until the detective was lying on the bed, his eyes fixed on him, not letting go of his hand.</p><p>"Everything okay, love?"</p><p>Sherlock's eyes sparkled at the name. He nodded softly. John lay down on him, slowly, and leaned down to kiss him eagerly. Sherlock kissed him back, embracing him. </p><p>"If you don't feel comfortable with something, tell me, and I'll stop", John muttered in his mouth. </p><p>Sherlock nodded, his breath quickening with a mixture of anticipation, excitement, desire and fear of disappointing John for his inexperience, for not being good enough, for not…</p><p>"Shhhhhh, stop thinking" shushed John, kissing his neck, reading his mind "everything will be perfect, okay. Simply let you go…"</p><p>John sat down next to him and began to unbuckle his belt, slowly, always giving Sherlock time to stop him, but the detective raised his hips, in a clear invitation. </p><p>John pulled down his trousers and pants simultaneously, releasing Sherlock's semi-hard cock, while the detective shivered at the idea of being naked in front of John. No. Shivered at the thought of being naked in bed with John and about to make love with him. </p><p>The doctor smiled. </p><p>"You are the most beautiful creature I ever saw. Ralph was right. You are a Greek God" he said, his gaze running up and down his lean but powerful body, his curls in disarray, longing to taste every inch of his skin, and his mouth watered looking at his hard, dripping cock. </p><p>He took off his trousers and pants. Sherlock's gaze fell on his cock,  totally hard, big, swollen, perfect. Sherlock stretched out his arm and surrounded it with his hand, surprised that the doctor was so hard only to be with him, that he managed to excite him like that. </p><p>John moaned. The detective's hand stroke him softly at first, and then firmer, looking at John cataloguing every shiver, shudder, grunt and groan, mostly when he ran his thumb over the tip of his cock. John held back the urge to rush in and devour Sherlock's and let the detective continue. But he was so excited that he would come if Sherlock continued to masturbate and didn't want to come like that. </p><p>He took his hand and interlocked their fingers, kissing them. Then he got in the top of Sherlock, straddling the detective's hips. Gently, he took the detective's wrists and pushed them into de the pillow, on either side of his head, delighted with the spasm of pleasure that arched Sherlock's body at the feeling of being immobilised by him.</p><p>"If you knew the naughty things I'm dying to make you" teased John…, enjoying the new spams that ran through Sherlock's body. </p><p>He was delighted with the submissive side in sex he just discovered in the detective, but also amazed of how Sherlock trusted on him, confident he wouldn't hurt him, how he had surrendered to him. </p><p>John leaned over to kiss him, but stopped his lips inches apart from Sherlock's, to look in his green-blue eyes, to melt reading in them the blind confidence, the desire, the uncertainty, the love. </p><p>Sherlock closed them, ashamed of how easily John can read them. The doctor kissed him, and Sherlock raised his hips, trying to brush his now hard cock on his, but the doctor raised his lips and silenced the detective's protests kissing him deeply, his tongue playing with Sherlock's. </p><p>John broke the kiss and slowly moved down to his tendon neck, kissing and gently biting it, making Sherlock inhaling sharply through his nose, but without moving, since he was still too rigid to let his body freely moving by instinct. </p><p>John moved down to kiss his chest until his mouth was near Sherlock's right nipple and gently took it between his thumb and index finger, as he licked the other with his flat tongue. Sherlock yelped and threw his head back, his body arching like a bow due to the intense explosion of sensations, his cock quivering, totally erect and rabidly purple, already leaking. </p><p>John smiled around his nipple, swirling his tongue over the hardened numb, pinching the other, while Sherlock whited in pleasure, covering his mouth with his hand in an attempt to muffle the sounds that tried to escape from it. </p><p>John realised then that Sherlock didn't know how sensitive his nipples were and wondered if he had ever played with them. He knew Sherlock acted as if his body were something strange to him, transport, as he used to say, and tended to ignore his body necessities.  </p><p>He alternated, licking his nipple with gently nibbling it, and switched his hand and mouth, giving equal attention to both, gently removed Sherlock's hand from his mouth. </p><p>"Come on, love" he whispered, "I want to hear you". </p><p>Sherlock shook his head, biting his lips. Still stimulating his nipples, John rubbed his cock against the detective's, in a long, slow movement and a strong gurgled moan escaped from Sherlock's mouth. </p><p>"Yes, like this" John said over his nipple "the most beautiful symphony" he muttered, as the detective twisted under him, moaning aloud in rhythm with John's hips movements, faster and faster, noting how the detective's excitement grew, galloping toward orgasm. When he was about to come, John gripped the base of his cock. </p><p>Sherlock rolled his eyes, dropping on the mattress, looking at him in confusion. John smiled smugly; he already had the detective right where he wanted him. He achieved to let his body to take control, turning off his mind, sensations and emotions freely flowing. Underneath him, Sherlock breathed heavily, panting, reddened, surrendered and bewildered. </p><p>"You are doing perfect, love. Breath, yes, like this. It's perfect". </p><p>He moved down until his mouth was over Sherlock's red, swollen cock. He licked his lips and grabbed the detective's shivering legs, spreading them. </p><p>"John…" </p><p>"Shhh, it's okay… I'm going to make you feel good, love…" John calmed him, moving to set comfortable between Sherlock's legs. </p><p>He stopped for a while, inhaling deeply. The detective wasn't the only one who needed to calm down. John was overwhelmed with sensations, too, his mind dizzy now he finally was making love with Sherlock, touching, smelling and feeling him, and worried about doing something wrong that will scare the detective, which will hurt him not physically. </p><p>Sherlock was physically strong but emotionally soft, his heart like a trembling bird in his hands. John was thrilled at how the detective opened to him, that he had lowered all his defences, his walls, trusting him enough to show himself in all his vulnerability. His heart shrank reading the mute plea in the detective's eyes, please don't hurt me, please don't break my heart.</p><p>John blinked noticing Sherlock's body stiffened a bit, and he focused again in his, licking it along the shaft, from the base to the tip and Sherlock mixed a gasp with a moan. He licked the pre-cum from the tip and, in a quick movement, engulfed it with his mouth. </p><p>"Oh, God…." Sherlock screamed in a moan, involuntarily raising his hips, causing his cock to reach John's throat. </p><p>The doctor hummed contently and aroused, swallowing hard, so his throat muscles constricted around Sherlock's cock head, while the detective's hands flapped in the air as he desperately looked for something to hold on to. John gently grabbed them, pressing them against the mattress, getting a new strangled moan from him.</p><p>John bobbed his head up and down Sherlock's cock, while with one of his hand caressed his balls, a feather touch that got the detective mad, and started bucking his hips madly. John smiled, letting him move, as his lips moved from the bottom to the top of the cock, rubbing the tip of his tongue over the slit and around the head. </p><p>Sherlock pushed John's head back. </p><p>"John… I'm going to… you have to…"</p><p>Instead of stopping, John swallowed again the detective's cock, moaning and groaning hungrily, the vibrations running along the shaft, his hands caressing and gently squeezing balls and stroking his perineum, speeding his movements, ignoring Sherlock's weaker attempts to push his mouth away until, with a howl, the detective came with a powerful orgasm.</p><p>For a second his body went rigid, and he didn't make any sound, until he jolted heavily, while John swallowed his cum, sucking him through his orgasm between Sherlock's agonic and tortured screams of pleasure and erratic movements. </p><p>For a moment, the thought of a scandalised Mrs Hudson ran through his mind, but he pushed it aside. Sherlock's moans where music on his ears that he didn't want to finish listening to them, so he licked the head of his cock, the tip of his tongue carefully getting the last drops of cum, increasing the brutality of Sherlock's orgasm. </p><p>Finally, John took mercy on him, releasing his cock and detective's sweaty, trembling body collapsed on the mattress, his eyes unfocused and glazed until he found John's smug smile. </p><p>"That… that…"</p><p>John smiled, enjoying the for once speechless Sherlock and leaned to kiss him, letting the detective taste himself in his mouth. </p><p>"Do you want to stop?" he asked softly. "It would be all right if you want to stop now."</p><p>Sherlock shook his head. He didn't want John to stop. Never wanted him to stop. Deep inside, he was still afraid John's excitation came just from the jealousy and the tango, and, when it will be over, he wouldn't want to touch him again. </p><p>He needed to feel John inside him. He dreamed with it countless nights, and he still wasn't sure what was happening wasn't a dream. His hand moved to grab the doctor's big hard cock, but he stopped him, smiling softly. He needed a bit to regain his control also. He wanted their first time to be perfect.</p><p>John moved to grab the lube from the nightstand, looking at Sherlock, who wantonly opened his legs. John chuckled, bending his tights over his chest. He covered his fingers with lube and spread his arsecheeks, softly rubbing between them, making Sherlock cock twitch, trying to getting hard again, as he lifted more his hips. </p><p>"That felt good?" he asked softly. </p><p>Sherlock nodded, hiding his eyes behind his forearm, moaning as his body rocket over John's coated fingers. </p><p>"I… I never thought an orgasm… felt that way…". </p><p>John looked at him, baffled. </p><p>"Do you mean you haven't masturbated before?"</p><p>"Of course I did, John" he panted, a bit offended, an <em>I'm not such a freak </em>hid behind his words "A couple of times when I was fourteen, but it was….kind of… frustrating". </p><p>"Frustrating?" John listened to people talking about masturbation in a lot of ways, but never as frustrating. </p><p>"I wasn't able to…" Sherlock found hard to keep his thread of thinking now John's finger was rubbing his rim, from time to time poking slightly through it, relaxing his muscle "to… my mind didn't stop…I got excited, and excited and almost… but I wasn't… able to…, achieve the orgasm so.....so…. I thought something was wrong with meeeee" he spoke the last word high-pitched because John's finger entered inside him "so I stopped trying," answered Sherlock, blushing hard, ashamed of his clumsiness. </p><p>John smiled fondly, but felt sad for him, knowing Sherlock concluded in sex as he did in all his life's areas: something was wrong with him. </p><p>He moved down and kissed him. </p><p>"Well, it's clear it is nothing wrong with you," he said, removing his finger from Sherlock ass and now shoving two inside him, twisting them to brush his prostate. The detective's body stiffened with a shocked growl. </p><p>"Too much?" asked John. </p><p>Sherlock nodded. Too much. Too many feelings, emotions and sensations for him to process in one day, but…</p><p>"John, don't stop," he asked desperately, gasping for air, trying to recompose himself.</p><p>The doctor chuckled. </p><p>"As you wish, you lusty bossy."</p><p>Sherlock rumbled, relaxing a bit. John thrust his fingers inside him a bit more, until he rubbed his prostate again, making Sherlock cry in pleasure. </p><p>"John, I need you inside me. Fuck me, John" the detective moaned, and the doctor almost came listening to him. If looking at the shaky, aroused and a wrecked detective was not enough, listening to his horny moaned words turned him on madly. Somehow he managed to find enough self-control to thrust a third finger in Sherlock's hole and opened him enough to receive his cock. </p><p>He coated it in lube, and put one of Sherlock's legs over his shoulder, and pushed the other over the detective's body, the tip of his cock touching Sherlock entrance. The detective nodded, and both groaned in pleasure when John shoved it inside, stopping to give him time to adjust.</p><p>He looked at him, advising him to breathe, to relax, and only when Sherlock's face relaxed, he slowly thrust until he bottomed out, eliciting a blissful moan from both their mouths. </p><p>“You feel sooo good” groaned John, shivering as his inner walls clenched around him. “you are so tight...fucking god, this is heaven."</p><p>John smiled softly and kissed Sherlock, who kissed him back. Both of them had dreamed about that moment so many times, physically and emotionally joined, able to freely love each other…</p><p>John blinked, trying to hide his tears of happiness, wondering if everything was just a dream. Pushing his cock inside Sherlock's tight walls felt so good that he felt himself floating, But Sherlock tearful eyes were real, his legs wrapped around him were real, his lips kissing him back was real, and Sherlock bucking his hips a bit to make him move was real. </p><p>John started thrusting inside him slowly. Sherlock was so tight around him that every friction almost made him lose control. So tight, warm and soft that he wasn't able to say anything, only grunt and groan in delight as Sherlock moaned breathlessly and loudly under him when John hit his prostrate. </p><p>John pulled out, only the head of his cock inside him and pushed back in, groaning over Sherlock's moans, keeping on with his slow thrust, driving the detective mad, his cock painfully hard, dripping profusely, whimpering every time John's cock rubs his prostate. </p><p>John kissed him, grabbing his hair, muttering soft praises against his skin, feeling Sherlock melting under him. </p><p>"Faster…..." the detective finally demanded, desperately moving his hips up awkwardly trying to get John deeper inside him. </p><p>That one word broke up all John's self-control, and his cock got harder than he had ever felt it. He grabbed Sherlock tightly by the hips and pounded inside him as fast and hard as he could, and his moans quickly rose in pitch, turning to soft cries of pleasure. </p><p>He would love to fuck Sherlock for hours, to give him all the pleasure he had been denied until then at once, but it was impossible with Sherlock moving his hips to meet his, while their moans, groans, and whines reached a volume John was sure the whole London was listening to them, as he kept torturing Sherlock's prostate with every thrust. </p><p>His hands wandered up, trailing up Sherlock’s ribs until he reached his nipples and pinched them. Sherlock bucked like a wild horse, mewling heatedly, and his ass clenched around John’s cock, creating a wave of pleasure that shook his whole body.</p><p>Sherlock was lost in the hot sensation of John’s throbbing, hot, marvellous cock thrusting deep inside him. He couldn’t think or deduce. His mind melted from the heavenly pleasure flooding any inch of his body, feeling that now familiar tingling sensation in his low abdomen, his muscles tightening, his body ready to explode again.</p><p>"John, I'm……." </p><p>The doctor grabbed his cock and started stroking it while fucking him at a devilish pace. Sherlock opened his eyes wide and tried to slap John's hand from his cock, unable able to stand all the pleasure sensations flowing his brain and body. But the doctor kept stroking him, thrusting him madly, until Sherlock body went rigid, his mouth opened in a silent scream, and came hard on his chest and John's hand, his ass clenching around John's cock while he came. </p><p>The sight and sounds of Sherlock coming were so erotic that John only was able to give a couple of erratic thrusts before he came hard, deep buried inside him, until he collapsed on top of the detective, both panting hard. </p><p>"Are… are you okay?" John asked after a while, smiling while noticing Sherlock's blissful face, his eyes shut while he still floated in his cloud of pleasure. After a bit, he managed to nod slightly, tightly embracing him. </p><p>John got serious. It was time to start speaking his feelings, though it still was scaring. </p><p>"I love you" he whispered, looking intendedly at Sherlock's eyes. </p><p>The detective looked at him, looking for any sign of lying in John's face. But he didn't find any. </p><p>"I love you too. I loved you since the first time I saw you". </p><p>John rolled until lie next to him, facing him, so their noses almost touched. They needed a shower, but they didn't want to break the intimacy of the moment. </p><p>"I know". </p><p>Sherlock raised an eyebrow. </p><p>"Dancing that tango in front of Donovan and Anderson was truly a proof of love". </p><p>"Oh, god…." Sherlock grunted, hiding his face behind his hands. Then he lowered then and smiled "It was worthy only to see their faces". </p><p>They both chuckled and lay together, looking at each other. Sherlock smiled blissfully, and John giggled. </p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Nothing"</p><p>The detective narrowed his eyes. </p><p>"What?"</p><p>"I like when you smile". </p><p>"You make me smile". </p><p>John giggled. A romantic Sherlock was something he never expected to meet.</p><p>"You make me smile" he replied, pecking Sherlock's nose. </p><p>The detective sighed and cuddled against him. John chuckled and hugged him hard.</p><p>"Will you teach me to dance the tango?"</p><p>Sherlock nodded. </p><p>"With rose included" demanded the doctor.</p><p>Sherlock chuckled and nodded again. He huddled against him. John smiled and embraced him. Then they both reached for their phones. </p><p>"I have to warn Ralph not to come". </p><p>"I still don't believe you hired an actor to make me jealous". </p><p>"I don't precisely have people standing in line to pretend to be my boyfriend". </p><p>"I would have done it delighted". </p><p>"Yes, but the aim was to make <em>you</em> jealous. You couldn't be both of them". </p><p>"You always say the victim is the murder in Cluedo". </p><p>"Fair point". </p><p>They remained silent for a while. John phone buzzed. Sherlock took it and frowned. </p><p>"It's Samantha" he whispered and tensed a bit. </p><p>John smiled. </p><p>"Open it". </p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"Read it".</p><p>"Merry Christmas, Sherlock Holmes" he read, disconcerted until he gasped "She knew it?"</p><p>"Of course, I'm not such a bastard as to spend a month hitting on a woman and then leave her. She knew it from the beginning, found it funny and decided to give me a hand. She knows what it means I haven't called her to come today to the Christmas party... By the way, I should warn Lestrade". </p><p>Sherlock shook his head, understanding why.</p><p>"He already knows, by Mycroft".</p><p>John frowned. </p><p>"It's a lie that he has cameras here, isn't it?"</p><p>"I think so, but with Mycroft, you never know". </p><p>Both chuckled. John looked at Sherlock and kissed him. Noticing they both were getting aroused again, he moved from the bed and smiled when Sherlock pouted. </p><p>"Time to get ready for Christmas party". </p><p>"We could cancel it and celebrate it on the bed". </p><p>"My God, I created a horny monster" John giggled, reaching out to Sherlock "Let's take a shower". </p><p>The detective sighed resignedly and grabbed his hand, smiling as he winked at him. He laughed, both finally feeling happy and relaxed after all those horrible days. </p><p>"We are even now, aren't we?"</p><p>John was about to nod when he frowned. </p><p>"No, come to think of it, no," he said, letting the detective pass by on his way to the bathroom and slapping him on the ass, "now we're even". </p><p>Sherlock snorted</p><p>"What?" </p><p>"When Ralph proposed me to do that, I told him over my dead body, but he assured that when you saw him touching my ass, you would go mad with jealousy". </p><p>John narrowed his eyes and tilted his head menacingly. </p><p>"Ralph knows I have a gun, right?"</p><p>Sherlock laughed again and pulled him into the shower, kissing him softly.  </p><p>"Come on, I'll give you your Christmas present," he said, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively. </p><p>John snorted and entered with him.</p><p>A bit later, both showered and dressed entered the living room, where Mrs Hudson, Lestrade and Mike were pouring champagne in some glasses. The three of them raised their glasses as they appeared.</p><p>"You.... you were in cahoots?' Sherlock asked astonished.</p><p>"Well, we decided that two idiots like you needed a little push to figure out what was going on," smiled Mike happily, as John shook his head, looking at Lestrade, who winked at him, then high-fiving Mike. </p><p>"And how did you...?"</p><p>"Mycroft found out what we were up to and told me to go and see Mike," smiled the DI. "And Mrs Hudson gave you the final push". </p><p>"So Sherlock never told you that Ralph was someone special". </p><p>The landlady giggled amused. </p><p>"No, just like you never told me, as I said Sherlock, that you were thinking of getting serious with Samantha". </p><p>Sherlock looked at them, gawking and smiling gratefully. Then, an idea came to his mind, and he bit his lower lip, blushing.</p><p>"How... how long have you been here? Have you heard anything?"</p><p>"We and the whole country, dear brother" chuckled Mycroft as he entered, followed by smiling Molly and Tom. </p><p>"No Donovan and Anderson tonight?"</p><p>Lestrade snorted. </p><p>"No. They were the perfect alibi for last night. If Sherlock were able to filtring with Ralph in front of them... you would take the bait".</p><p>John and Sherlock chuckled, hugging each other. Sherlock sat in his armchair and John next to him, exactly where Ralph was on Christmas Eve, and they embraced each other. </p><p>"Hey, look, mistletoe!" smiled the pathologist, and the detective and doctor looked up, smiling. </p><p>"That wasn't there last night," said Sherlock narrowing his eyes. </p><p>"It was our last resort" admitted Mike, between laughs. </p><p>All sat around the tree, they opened their presents, while the snow started to fall outside. Sherlock opened John's, and tears sprinkled in his eyes. It was a photo album with photos of them together during their cases took by Lestrade. In all of them both they looking at each other with devotion. It was clear they were the only fool who didn't notice it. </p><p>"And this?" </p><p>"I hoped this worked to make you realize how I love you".</p><p>"I was thinking of killing Samantha as a Christmas present" Sherlock replied, and all giggled, while they kissed passionately.</p><p>"Marry Christmas, Sherl" jocked John.</p><p>"I love you too, john."</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I hope you enjoyed it<br/>Thanks for reading.<br/>Kudos and comments are always welcome.</p><p>The tango Por una cabeza (For one head) is the same Jamie Lee Curtis and Arnold Swarzenegger danced in the movie True Lies. Hope you enjoyed the dance!😊</p></blockquote></div></div>
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